When the Mark Burned
by brittanythestoryteller
Summary: Bellatrix Lestrange awaits her release from Azkaban. One-Shot.


Fifteen years.

Plenty of things had changed in fifteen years. Children grew into adults, parents became grandparents, buildings were torn down and new ones built in their place, companies went out of business, and clothing went in and out of fashion. Many changes took place in fifteen years, but nothing changed in Azkaban prison.

Bellatrix Lestrange had been waiting for fifteen years for her master to release her. Despite the gloom the presence of the Dementors created, Bellatrix had always known that someday the Dark Lord would rise again. That knowledge kept her from losing all hope. She spent her days reciting curses and various spells, particularly of the Dark Arts, so when that particular day came her master would not be disappointed in her. Bellatrix was the Dark Lord's most faithful servant; she would not allow Azkaban to break her.

Some time ago, -it was hard to keep of track of how much time had passed during her incarceration-, Bellatrix's prediction had come true. The Dark Mark on her left forearm had been getting darker and darker with each passing week. She had wondered frantically how her Lord was rising once more, along with when he would come for her. Finally, in June, the Mark had burned, summoning the remaining members of the inner circle to the Dark Lord's side.

Bellatrix had shrieked with joy that night, not caring that the Dementors flocked to her cell as if expecting an attempt at a rebellion. She was not the only one who had expressed their relief that the Dark Lord had risen again. She recognized the raspy voice of Antonin Dolohov yelling a few cells down from her own, and Mulciber's somewhere on the other side. They mattered not, though. Bellatrix would be rewarded above all others.

Each day since the Dark Lord's return, Bellatrix had waited for him to come for her. Obviously she understood that he could not simply waltz into the wizarding prison, but surely the most powerful Dark wizard of all time could find a way to release her. The Dementors would certainly turn against the feeble Ministry, as they had during the first war. Bellatrix had tried ordering the Azkaban guards to release her, and once she had even asked two of them why they had not joined the Dark Lord. Her Lord would reward them with much more than the Ministry could offer. The Dementors did not respond, though; they only faced her cell drawing rattling breaths and feeding off of her hope and lone source of happiness. After months passed, the anticipation had faded into confusion and disappointment.

Bellatrix sighed with longing each time she felt her Dark Mark burn. She grew angry that she, her master's most trusted lieutenant, could not be there by his side. Those that had renounced their loyalty to avoid imprisonment, such as Cissy's husband Lucius Malfoy and the pathetic Igor Karkaroff, had surely rejoined the Dark Lord upon his return. With a sadistic smirk, Bellatrix hoped that her Lord had punished them severely for failing to search for him.

She would not have even known it was now 1996 if she hadn't heard two Aurors passing by her cell discussing their plans for the New Year. For Bellatrix, it was one year closer to being released from the prison and returning to her rightful place at the Dark Lord's side. She continued to wait, although she grew more impatient with each passing day, for she knew her master could not possibly forget about her. After all, as much as she hated to admit it, there were other Death Eaters also incarcerated that would be useful to the Dark Lord as well. There had to be a reason they had not yet been rescued.

Yet why had the Dark Lord not come for her after all this time? Someone _must_ have told him how Bellatrix, along with the Lestrange brothers and the Crouch boy that had simply been following her lead, had searched for him when he disappeared? Her Lord _had_ to know by now that she was imprisoned in this wretched place for torturing the Longbottoms for information on his whereabouts. She could not understand.

Bellatrix had contemplated escaping many times. After all, her blood traitor cousin had done it, so there must have been a way to get out. She remembered how she had laughed when the rumors spread through the cells that Sirius had escaped in order to search for the Dark Lord. No one knew for certain who had given the Dark Lord the location of the Potters, though those in his inner circle suspected the cowardly Peter Pettigrew. If Sirius hadn't killed him first, he would have been Bellatrix's first target. Her Lord had met his downfall while acting on Pettigrew's information. She supposed the blood traitor had done one good thing, though _she_ would have made sure to _Crucio_ him until he begged for death.

The woman sighed and sank back down onto the floor of her cell. Azkaban had turned her once smooth and flawless skin sallow and wax-like. Her eyes that men had once fawned over were now sunken in, giving her a very gaunt appearance. It was a good thing Azkaban cells did not possess mirrors. Although, Bellatrix had stopped caring about her appearance ages ago. Azkaban may have damaged her looks but she would not allow it to break her fiery spirit.

She felt her Mark burn for the second time that day. She wondered what the Dark Lord was planning; she _hated_ not knowing when she, the most faithful of all Death Eaters, was trapped in this place. After an hour or so, her eyelids drooped shut and she fell asleep still clutching her forearm.

Bellatrix awoke with a start when a loud bang rang through the prison walls. She stood up and ran to the front of her cell, clutching the bars and searching for the source of the noise. There were no Dementors in sight. Another bang occurred just then, followed by the sound of crumbling stone. Her heart sped up - was this really it?

Three Dementors glided into the corridor. To Bellatrix's surprise, they were unlocking several cells. When they reached Bellatrix and opened the door to her cell, she did not hesitate for one moment. One of the Dementors handed her her wand, which had been seized upon her arrest at the Longbottoms' house. She took it and raced through the hall, ignoring the cries and pleas of those that had not been released. As she ran she began to laugh wildly. When she did not know which way to turn, the Dementors pointed her in the right direction.

Finally she reached the door that led to the landing outside, where there were no anti-Apparation wards. It was how the Ministry officials entered and exited the prison. Once she was outside, Bellatrix wasted no time in pressing her wand to the still-burning Dark Mark. The sensation of Apparating she had not felt in fifteen years swept her away, and she was gone.

Bellatrix did not know, nor did she care, where she had arrived. There were masked Death Eaters surrounding her, as well as the others that had escaped, but she paid them no mind as she searched for the only face that mattered. He was there, his familiar red eyes watching her, and she couldn't help but grin wickedly at the sight of him. She approached the Dark Lord and immediately fell to her knees.

"My Lord," said Bellatrix.

"Bella," the Dark Lord's high, cold voice greeted her. She had waited fifteen years to hear that voice and now here he was, standing in front of her. "Welcome back."


End file.
